


To Err is Human

by PhaedrusOfAthens



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 04:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11866878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhaedrusOfAthens/pseuds/PhaedrusOfAthens
Summary: To err is human; to forgive, divine.-Alexander Pope





	To Err is Human

**Author's Note:**

> To err is human; to forgive, divine.  
> -Alexander Pope

I rubbed my temples with my fingers and groaned while John awkwardly rubbed my back. “I’m fine,” I said sharply shrugging off his hand. He rolled his eyes, but removed his hand without a word and settled himself next to me.

 

“What?” I asked curtly, peering over at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed next to me and had his usual worrying look on his face, but I didn’t want his pity right now.

 

“You don’t seem fine,” he said softly. “What can I do to help?”

 

“Nothing,” I stood abruptly and began pacing the length of our room. “I’m fine!”

 

“The more you say it, the less inclined I am to believe you.”

 

Washington had, once again, denied my request to entrust me with a command at the forthcoming battle and I was, once again, stuck with my usual tasks of writing and translating. To say I was mad was an understatement. 

 

“Just take a breath,” he tried. He really was trying, but all I could do was glare and huff. “I suppose that’s kind of like taking a breath,” he said jokingly at my huff. “Thank you for actually listening to me.”

 

Despite my anger, a smile cracked the grimace on my face. Tension released from my shoulders and I dropped back on the bed next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m…” I paused and cleared my throat. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t take out my anger on you,” I said in clearer voice.

 

Laurens sweetly put his hand through my hair, but then said, “I’ll let you.”

 

I jolted my head back and narrowed my eyes at him. “You’ll  _ let _ me?” I growled before I could stop myself. I knew he didn’t deserve this, but I couldn’t stop at this point without looking like a fool. “You don’t  _ let _ me do anything,” I foolishly continued and stood yet again. “ _ No one _ let’s me do anything. You are not my father. Washington is not my father.”

 

“Alex-” he stood from the bed with pain in his eyes.

 

“Don’t call me that,” I hissed. What was I doing? I couldn’t back down now. “I’m going to the tavern. Don’t follow me.” I stalked out of the room and felt stupidly impetuous as guilt settled in my stomach, but I couldn’t turn back.

 

My head swirled as I stomped through the streets to the tavern. I found a small empty table upon entering the rowdy tavern and immediately ordered the largest cup of whiskey they had available. “Can I just have the bottle?” I asked the bartender when ordering. He just laughed as though I was joking. I guess he wasn’t going to  _ let _ me have it. 

 

I swallowed my whiskey in a single gulp and shuddered at the bitterness and bite on its way down my throat. A group of local militia who were sat at the table next to me complained loudly about the conditions they had been subjected to during the course of the war.

 

I returned to the bar for another round and quickly downed it in the same fashion. 

 

“Washington is by far the worst commander I've had the displeasure to serve,” I heard a large man with a paunchy face say leaning into a group of avid listeners. 

 

Normally this kind of talk may have gone unnoticed by me, but tonight, not only were they speaking ill of His Excellency, but they were also letting the rest of the room hear it. Not having such a high opinion of the General at this moment, it was the latter that spurred my next actions. I refilled my glass, swallowed, and turned to the scene unfolding before me. 

 

My head, sore from frustration, guilt, and now a dangerous amount of whiskey, was obviously not in the right place when I walked up behind the paunchy boaster and growled with all the ferocity I could muster, “You will shut your damn mouth or I will shut it for you.”

 

He slowly turned to me at first looking above me, expecting someone taller, and then lowered his eyes as his face broke into a sneer. “And how will you do that?” he taunted.

 

So I punched him. Right in the mouth. 

 

My knuckles raked against his teeth and I winced at the sudden sharp pain in my hand, shaking it slightly as I drew it back. I lamented a bit that the marks left behind on my knuckles would be very noticeable the next day and John would have something new to fret about. 

 

That would not be the only thing I would lament, however. As I drew my hand back readying myself to strike again, a thin man from the paunchy idiot’s militia came from my left and punched me squarely in the left eye. At least no one would be looking at my knuckles.

 

“Fuck!” I yelled. 

 

“Pretty boy just got a little uglier,” one of them laughed. They weren't the wittiest bunch, but before I could say as much, the paunchy one, having regained his composure after my assault, clipped me in the nose and pain shot through me. 

 

“Alexander!” I heard a familiar voice cry out. “What the hell are you doing?” It was John. It was always John.

 

I slumped to the ground holding my nose and I felt blood pooling in my hands and dripping through my fingers despite my best efforts. 

 

“Can I get a rag?!” John shot at the bartender.

 

“Is this your friend?” I heard the bartender ask throwing him a cloth. “Get him out of here!”

 

“Get  _ them _ ou-!” But my mouth was soon covered by the rag trying to stop up the blood from my nose. Laurens glared at me to shut my mouth and I sunk back into the floor wishing I could melt away rather than him see me like this. 

 

“We're leaving,” he said curtly to the bartender. “I'll come back tomorrow to see the damages.”

 

I tensed at that and groaned underneath his firm grasp on my arm, but continued out the door with him. Instead of the lecture I expected, he was completely silent on our seemingly endless walk home. For once, I was too.

 

That changed when we got to our room. “Let me see,” he instructed with newfound tenderness in his voice. I blushed from embarrassment at having ever been angry at him.

 

“I'm fine,” I said despite myself. 

 

“You are not. Now you really are acting childish,” he said pointedly and roughly removed my hand where it was holding the rag. He held tightly to my upper arm as he inspected, poked, and prodded at the various bruises on my face. Satisfied with his inspection, he knelt to my eye level and looked me in the eyes. At least he tried to do that, I wasn't able to meet them. “Look at me,” he said firmly. I obeyed without hesitation.

 

“This could have been worse,” he said tenderly. “Please don't do this again.” It wasn't an order, just an ardent request. 

 

I leaned forward resting my forehead on his shoulder and croaked a muffled, “I'm sorry.” I turned my head outward and clutched at his shoulder while he hugged me tightly and buried his face in my hair.

 

“I'll try not to,” was all I could think to say. That seemed to satisfy him for the moment as he kissed the top of my head through my hair. “I'm sorry,” I said again.

 

“I’ll always forgive you,” he replied softly. 

 


End file.
